


Enlightened Self-Interest

by sister_coyote



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Adrenaline, Fellatio, Missionfic, Multi, Plot What Plot, Threesome, Turkfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-10
Updated: 2007-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_coyote/pseuds/sister_coyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can only let tension build up so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enlightened Self-Interest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [animadri](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=animadri).



> Warning for sex and implied violence.

They don't take the traitor back to Shinra Tower, because the way things are going lately, it's better to keep their dirty laundry outside the building. It wasn't always like that, but with the way Scarlet and Heidegger are nosing around—and with what happened to Palmer . . . and everyone knows that President Shinra is pinning his hopes on SOLDIER rather than the Turks. (Tseng finds this vaguely distasteful, even apart from the ways in which it inconveniences him and threatens his department. Increased reliance on SOLDIER means increased reliance on brute force solutions to problems; the Turks are about subtlety, and about using one illicit gunshot in the night to forestall months of bitter and ultimately profitless conflict. But he does not call the shots, ultimately. Perhaps when Rufus takes over . . . but then, that may be years yet.)

Instead, they work him over here, in the basement of a mostly-abandoned tenement in Sector Five. Or rather, Reno and Rude work him over while Tseng hacks into the personal files on his computer. He provides direction from time to time, without looking up: "Are you quite sure he has no connection to AVALANCHE?" and listens with satisfaction to Rude's deadpan, "I can't help you unless you give me something to work with," and Reno's half-out-of-control imploring to just get fifteen seconds alone with the turncoat. (It is difficult to say how much of Reno's crazy edge is an act, and how much is genuine, but then that blurring is part of why he is so effective.) Then come a series of muffled thuds, and Rude, cold and heavy as the Plate far above them, patiently repeating the question.

Twenty minutes later, the mole is unconscious, and Reno is wiping blood off his hands. "I think he really doesn't know anything, boss," he says. "Nothing useful enough to save his ass, anyway."

"Agreed," Rude says. "Just a floater. I doubt he even knows who hired him on."

Tseng has to concur. The files in the suspect's computer don't contain anything they don't know already, and the encryption methods he tried mark him as a rank amateur. "I believe we're done here," he says.

They dispose of the traitor just as discreetly. No point in drawing unnecessary company attention to the matter. When it's done, and the body has been disposed of, Tseng flips open his PHS to call the car around. When Reno says, "We going back already?" it isn't the words that stop him. It's the weariness in Reno's voice.

He can't see Rude's expression behind the glasses, but he expects it's something similar. And to be quite honest, he doesn't relish the idea of going back, either. There will be questions, there will be sideways looks, there will be intimations—there will be attempts to cut his budget again, or undermine the Turks' autonomy further. He doesn't look forward to it. It's his job to handle it, and handle it he does—digging in and hanging on in the hopes of keeping things together until something changes, be it the influences on the President or a new President—but he doesn't enjoy it.

It's not like it used to be, for the Turks, and the tension is getting to _all_ of them. Reno's just the one who's most comfortable admitting it.

He flips the PHS closed slowly. "No," he says. "Not quite yet."

The grin Reno gives him flashes in the dim light. Here, in the dim light, where there are no other eyes to see, he lets the tension _uncoil_.

He's been off regular fieldwork for so long that he expects the look of mild surprise in Reno's eyes when he moves fast, but that look melts away almost immediately as soon as he has Reno up against the wall. He can feel that Reno's hard already, but then, so is he; it isn't an unexpected side-effect of fieldwork. Reno tastes like coffee and cigarettes, and he kisses fast and sloppy, just as he works, but _effectively_. Just as he works.

Rude's hand on his shoulder draws him away, and he hears Reno say, "Yeah, fuck, boss, you need it worse than I do," but distantly, because he's distracted by the process of unbuttoning Rude's shirt. Reno just keeps talking. "You get in so early, work so late, when the hell do you get a chance to fuck around? Bet you miss the old days." Tseng is only half-listening, because he's found what he was looking for: the tattoo on Rude's chest, crisp black lines stretching from breastbone to navel, bisected by two long scars Rude acquired after he got the tattoo. Reno's still talking, licking his lips: "Rude says you two used to screw around in empty offices and shit, back before things got so hot at HQ."

"Reno," Rude says, as calm as he was with the target, "shut up." He reaches out to grab Reno's tail, like he's going to drag his partner to his knees, but Tseng decides he doesn't want to let Reno preempt him there. He goes down to his knees first.

"Oh, fuck," Reno drawls, and Tseng catches a glimpse of his eyes heavy-lidded, watching.

Rude's cock is thick and familiar in his hand, and he wets his lips and slides it down without hesitating but also without hurrying. If he's going to do a thing, he's going to do it _well_ to the best of his capabilities, and while that's at the heart of his present frustrations, it isn't always an inconvenience. Just now, with Rude's skin salty and warm against his tongue, it seems like quite the opposite.

There's a zip and a rustle of fabric, and then the sound of Reno jerking off—hard breath rasping, very different from the deep harsh breaths Rude's taking. Rude shifts, and the way his body starts to move (chest and shoulder flexing, a little thrust to counterbalance, which feels good in an almost-too-much-pressure way in Tseng's mouth) Tseng knows even without looking that Rude's taken over for Reno.

Reno can't keep his mouth shut, of course, never could. Within seconds he's talking again, mouthy and completely disrespectful: "Fuck, you put on a good show. Give the boss a little more, Rude, he can take it. You know he can. Aren't you going to get a hand down your pants? You must be fucking ready to go."

He doesn't go for his own cock just yet. Some of it is about control. Some of it is about not wanting this to be over. Reno's right—this was a lot more common, once upon a time, before everything started going to hell. He drags his mouth off long enough to say, "Nearly," and hears the way Reno groans like he's about to lose it.

He presses his tongue against the slick head of Rude's cock, takes it all the way down again—and Rude stiffens, breathing fast and with a little snarl behind it, and pulses hot across his tongue. "Fuck," Reno says a moment later, "ah, _fuck_," and Tseng pulls back in time to see him lose it, his fair skin flushed and his eyes bright as mirrors.

Rude tugs his sunglasses off and his eyes meet Tseng's. Tseng feels his mouth curl up at one side, and—he never had the synergy with Rude that Reno does, but they have known each other many, many years. So he loosens his belt at the same time Rude lets go of Reno's cock to grab his hair. This time he does drag him down to his knees.

Reno's mouth closes hot and wet around him, wet and fast and with just the hint of teeth. He can't talk but he _still_ makes a lot of noise, moans broken as he fucks his mouth on Tseng's cock, moaning harder when Tseng gets a hand in his hair and pulls. It doesn't take long. All the itchy frustrations and building tensions, all the ways he's been holding himself still, unwind fast and crack like a whip, and Tseng muffles a sound as he comes hard, eyes squeezed shut and bright patterns like the flow of mako behind his eyelids.

He opens his eyes again in time to see Reno looking damned smug, wiping his mouth and rocking back to his heels. "That's fucking better," he says.

"Mm," Tseng says.

"We need to get you out of the damn office more often, boss," Reno says, retrieving his EMR and swinging it up over his shoulder.

Rude meets Tseng's eyes before he puts his sunglasses back on. "Agreed."

"I don't see how that would be your responsibility," Tseng says.

Reno shrugs. "Turks watch out for one another," he says. "Especially when things get hot. You taught me that. Just 'cause it's not a bullet doesn't mean it ain't a real threat."

"I should think 'enlightened self-interest' had something to do with it as well," Tseng says, flipping open the PHS again to call for the car. Reno smirks.

"It isn't any less true for that," Rude says.


End file.
